More than anything
by Lilamedusa
Summary: It was something like dry resentment and deep fear, and it broke his heart.. This was written The Tattoo challenge by for sick-xxatheart.


Hey reader! OMG! Have you seen the young DD and the young GG? No? Go look for them in the web because... They're hot!

Well... Hahaha, this was written The Tattoo challenge by for sick-xxatheart.

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Disclaimer: Lilamedusa does not own.

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He hated that tattoo more than anything.

It was a permanent reminder of the hate in his eyes when he left the room. But it wasn't hate, it was softer. Pity, condescendence, a crazy wish to kiss him in the lips and pretend nothing had happened at all. It was a crazy wish to try and love him as if Ariadna wasn't dead and as if he hadn't cursed Aberforth and as if he hadn't betrayed his trust and broke his heart. It was something like dry resentment and deep fear, and it broke his heart.

The tattoo was a punishment, to remind him of what he had done, what he was – and he was Grindelwald, and he had made thousands of tattoos very like this one, and had never thought twice of it – and what he had done. He hated that tattoo more than anything, because it made him ache for the man he had once loved, the man that had once loved him back.

Made him ache for the kisses he did not give and the hugs he did not receive.

It was a reminder of the crooked nose, the piercing blue eyes, the charming wistful grin, the feeling of being the owner of the world while being locked in the cellar making plans for a future they both knew was not meant to be.

And it was quite sad, actually, that after all the years locked in the jail he himself had built; all he could think about was his jailer. And he wondered. Was everyone like him? Did every soul he had ever locked here and tortured to dead have thought as much of him as he thought of Albus?

Albus. Albus in the gardens, Albus besides Ignotus grave, Albus leaning in for a kiss he'd never get, Albus being toyed, Albus trusting, Albus smiling, Albus angry, Albus desperate, Albus crying, Albus angry, Albus cursing him, Albus defeating him. Albus was everywhere, Albus in the dirty floor and in the filthy roof, in the windows and in the door and in the chains and in the pain and in his eyes and in his mind. Albus taking him as if he was his without even being there.

It was pathetic, thinking of him. Did Albus think of him, Grindelwald, locked in Nurmengard? Did Albus give him a thought before going to sleep? Was Albus still angry at him; had he finally figured out who had killed his sister? Had Aberforth forgive him, had Albus forgotten?

Oh he came, every once in a while, hoping to see him, to see he was okay.

But he could just as well not come; he never looked at him, never talked to him, never smiled his ancient sweet smile or gave him a word of comfort with that grave voice of his.

And he didn't dare to call for him, ask for his forgiveness. He was ashamed of himself, of his broken smile, his rotten teeth, and his ugly skin. He was ashamed of himself being so dirty and so filthy and so him, when Albus was ancient and wise, and clean and pure and so himself. He was ashamed of the marks in his skin, the mark in his arm that was so like all those marks he himself had done.

Sometimes he thought he was dying, and never had he thought before that death could actually be an outlet, something to look forward too, if just to be ridden of that bloody pair of piercing blue eyes. But he's not, and he's not free, and is quite extraordinary to think that some years ago (a whole lot of years, even if he's already lost count of how time comes and goes) he was desperate in his way to find immortality.

Masters of Death! Such ridiculous stories! Wasn't it obvious that sooner or later they'd get tired of living and they'd want nothing but death? Wasn't it obvious that the weight of his sins would crush him so strongly that he'd want nothing but death?

The last time Albus comes (before he dies and Grindelwald can say he died too, with him), he tries to talk with him, and finds that his voice is almost gone.

"Albus…"

Albus flinches and his blue_blue_blue eyes pierce him once again, and he feels more ashamed of himself that ever, because that same feeling of all those years ago, softer than hate and stronger than love, is still there, torturing and becoming the twinkle in the old eyes behind a pair of half-moon glasses. He was no longer the handsome young man he had met all those years ago, with arrogant eyes and smug grins. He looked ancient, almost old, wise, and terribly broken.

_By me_. He remembered himself and he knew he must look broken, too. _I broke him, and it broke in return. _

"Gellert." He says kindly, and is almost as if time had not passed.

But it had. Gellert is now old and dirty and Albus is ancient and pure. As pure as anyone can be. He strokes the tattoo in his hand, and Albus sees it. That pain in his eyes seems to be multiplying itself, and he knows they're both thinking of the very same damn day.

"I was wrong – Albus, oh Albus if you could just forgive me…"

"I do not think I'm young enough to forgive anymore, Gellert." And Albus means it.

Is not that he doesn't want to. They're just too old. There's just not a thing for Albus to forgive, because Gellert has gone too far. Forgiveness is not something Albus can give him anymore. His sins are to wide, his actions went too far.

And he's alone once more, with the same memory, the tattoo he himself forced on others skins forced on his. Albus dies, Voldemort comes, he dies.

And he still hates that tattoo more than anything.

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Thanks for reading.

Lilamedusa.


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